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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26913346">Blame It</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Weltschmerzer/pseuds/Weltschmerzer'>Weltschmerzer</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Yu-Gi-Oh! Duel Monsters (Anime &amp; Manga)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>M/M, Oral Sex, Sibling Incest, Underage Drinking</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 00:34:52</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Underage</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,102</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26913346</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Weltschmerzer/pseuds/Weltschmerzer</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>After stealing a bottle of vodka from the local liquor store, Malik and Bakura realise they've made a rather big mistake. From there, it spirals.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Bakura Ryou/Malik Ishtar, Bakura Ryou/Yami Bakura</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Blame It</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This was written as a gift for a friend. Please heed the tags and be aware that Ryou is thirteen in this universe.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Malik’s hands were shoved in his pockets, his palms sweaty and fingers twitching, as he watched Bakura fiddle with the door. The sun beat down on his back—his hair was matted at the nape of his neck, dampened by sweat—and the weight of the bottles Bakura had shoved into his backpack was crushing.</p><p>“Hurry up,” he muttered between clenched teeth, his eyes darting from the keys currently shoved in the lock to the empty street across from them. “God, do you think they have cameras? This was seriously a mistake, Bakura—if we get caught—”</p><p>“Shut <em>up</em>,” Bakura hissed, his eyes squinted in concentration as he tried to twist the key once more. “Fucking door’s broken, Christ.”</p><p>After another moment, the lock turned with a satisfying click, and the door opened inwards. </p><p>Bakura turned to shoot him a glare from over his shoulder. “You’re always so paranoid, I should just stop inviting you,” he grumbled, taking a step inside. “And be quiet, would you? I think my brother’s home.”</p><p>Malik hurried after him, letting the door swing shut behind him as he followed his friend into the house. “Maybe if you just carried your own stuff my ‘paranoia’ wouldn’t be such an issue,” he said, shrugging his backpack off his shoulders and placing it gingerly on the counter. If the bottles inside broke and Bakura made him go out again, he thought he might really be at risk for a heart attack. He and everyone else in their shithole of a town knew that Bakura had a fake ID, but he preferred to steal his alcohol instead of paying for it, and usually dragged whoever he planned on drinking with into it. “Seriously, why is it my job <em>every</em> time? Last week—”</p><p>Waving him off, Bakura opened the fridge. He rummaged around for a second before producing a carton of orange juice. It looked new; Malik hoped someone in his family had actually finished it and Bakura hadn’t just poured the juice down the drain. </p><p>“Fill it, if you’re so worried about getting caught,” he said, tossing the empty container in Malik’s direction.</p><p>Malik scowled, but he unzipped his bag anyways. Then, eyes narrowed in concentration, he uncapped the clear bottle and began to siphon the vodka into the carton. “It smells like shit,” he remarked, nose twitching at the strong scent. “I don’t get why you like this stuff.”</p><p>Bakura rolled his eyes. “And yet you drink it anyways,” he said. “Give it here.”</p><p>“Get it yourself,” Malik grumbled, irritated, and set the now full carton down on the counter.</p><p>Then he stalked out of the kitchen and, ignoring Bakura’s mocking laughter, headed over to the living room and plopped down on the beat-up couch. Malik wasn’t even in the mood to get wasted—his anxiety was through the roof, and if he had any of the shitty vodka it would only get worse. Bakura could have as much fun as he wanted drinking himself to death while he took a nice, well-needed break.</p><p>Malik was about to close his eyes and settle down for a few hours when he heard a door cracking open. Peering up the staircase that led upstairs, he flinched when a light flickered on and the faint sound of slippers across the wood floor drew nearer.</p><p>That put an end to any drinking plans, then. Disappointed, even though he’d sworn he hadn’t planned on getting drunk anyways, Malik tipped his neck back and sighed. Bakura was going to be pissy.</p><p>“Ah—Malik?” a soft, inquisitive voice came, sooner than expected. “Bakura didn’t tell me you were coming over." </p><p>Forcing a smile, Malik raised his head. Bakura’s younger brother, Ryou, stood in front of him, dressed in a rather short pair of pajama shorts and an oversized sweater. Clutched in his small hands was a water bottle.</p><p>It wasn’t that he didn’t <em>like </em>Ryou. On the contrary, actually—Ryou was cute, in the way all middle schoolers were cute, and mild mannered. It would be difficult to find any reason to dislike him. But he was only thirteen, five years younger than him and Bakura; there was no way they could get wasted with him hanging around, especially with how weirdly overprotective Bakura was over him.</p><p> “It was a last minute thing,” Malik lied, raising his voice a little more than was necessary. Hopefully that would be enough to warn Bakura; if not, then it served him right anyway for being an ass. “Math project. Winter is brutal for seniors.”</p><p>Ryou nodded, looking rather unsure of what to say. “Oh,” he managed, after an awkward moment had gone by. Standing there, all gangly limbs and eyes, he seemed like a deer in the headlights. “Um.” </p><p>Malik couldn’t help but grin, then. It was so weird—the two brothers’ personalities were complete opposites. It seemed impossible that they’d grown up in the same household. “You don’t have to talk to me if you don’t want to,” he teased. “Go get your juice.”</p><p>Cheeks red, Ryou shook his head. “It’s not like that,” he protested weakly. “I—”</p><p>“I know, I know,” Malik said, a little sheepish. It wasa little cruel to joke with a kid like that, even if it <em>was</em> funny.. “It’s okay, I’m just kidding. I’m not going to bite you or anything.”</p><p>Ryou dipped his head, embarrassed, and scampered off to the kitchen. There were a few loud thumps—probably Bakura shoving the carton in the fridge—and exchanged words too low to make out properly, and then Bakura was storming out into the living room.</p><p>“You asshole,” he muttered when his gaze landed on Malik on the couch. “You couldn’t be bothered to get up?”</p><p>Malik shrugged. “I did try,” he said, a little smug. “Not my fault you can’t hear.”</p><p>Bakura’s mouth twisted into a scowl, and he leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. “Fuck you,” he said. </p><p>There was a long pause then, both him and Bakura wallowing in their mild irritation. Malik pulled out his phone and launched one of his online games; Bakura sneered at him, chin jutted out, but said nothing. That endured for what felt like a lifetime, though it was probably only ten or so minutes, until Ryou wandered back in from the kitchen. He looked confused—his face was screwed up in thought. </p><p>Silently, standing still in the doorway, Ryou took his water bottle’s straw between his plump, pink lips and took a long sip, his throat bobbing with the movement.</p><p>“Thirsty?” Malik said, amused, as he watched Ryou try to swallow all the liquid down.</p><p>Ryou shook his head, brows furrowing as he wiped his mouth off with the back of his palm. Like that, Malik thought he resembled his older brother a little more than he’d ever appeared to before. “It t—tastes weird,” he replied, stumbling over his words. “I had some before ‘n it was gross, so I poured it out and made a new one, b—but it’s the same.”</p><p>Bakura raised a brow. “It’s water, Ryou,” he said, standing a little straighter. “It tastes the same every time.”</p><p>“N—no, it’s not,” Ryou began slowly. His cheeks were flushed a bright red, eyes glassy and vacant as he tried to enunciate the words. “’s orange juice.”</p><p>Malik’s throat went dry. “Fuck,” he blurted out, before he could stop himself. “Shit. <em>Fuck.</em>”</p><p>Beside him, Bakura’s face had gone pale. “How much?” he barked, striding forward to grasp Ryou by his slim shoulders. “<em>How much</em> did you have?”</p><p>Ryou blinked, languid, unperturbed by the way his brother was shaking him about. “Dunno,” he mumbled. “Two.”</p><p>“Two what?” Bakura hissed, his fingers digging into Ryou’s sweater. </p><p>Frowning, Ryou shifted. “T—two quarters.”</p><p>Letting out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding, Malik buried his face in his palms. Two halves of his water bottle would only be to make Ryou really woozy and knock him out for a nice, long sleep. Definitely inadvisable for a kid, but nothing hospital-worthy.</p><p>Bakura’s eyes slid shut with relief. “Two quarters,” he repeated. “And that’s it? You promise?”</p><p>Ryou nodded. “Mm,” he said, blinking again. His lids were drooping, lashes casting a shadow on his round cheek. “P—Promise.” Mouth twisting into a pout, he complained, “You’re hurting me, Bakura.”</p><p>Bakura’s hands flew away, dropping to his sides. “Sit down,” he instructed, and ushered Ryou—who stumbled with every step—toward the couch, next to where Malik was sitting. “And don’t even think about trying to move.”</p><p>Malik wrapped his arm instinctively around the young boy’s waist, allowing him to sink into his side. Ryou was so warm; his hair smelled clean, like apple shampoo. From this close, he could feel his thin chest rising with each breath. “Shh,” he murmured, though Ryou hadn’t made a sound. “Just rest, okay?”</p><p>Bakura tipped his head back and drew in a shaky breath. “Fuck,” he said, the words coming out rather hollow. “Just—stay with him. ’m gonna go get water.”</p><p>“Make sure it’s actually water this time,” Malik grumbled under his breath when Bakura was out of sight, stroking Ryou’s side. “Dipshit.”</p><p>Ryou’s nose twitched. “That tickles,” he said, smiling vaguely. </p><p>Malik grinned. His hands began to roam Ryou’s tummy, fingers ghosting over his rib cage and belly button. The young boy didn’t laugh, though—rather, he took in a shuddering breath.</p><p>“Feels nice,” Ryou sighed. “But Bakura s—says no one else is supposed to play with me.”</p><p>
The faint sound of the tap running in the other room was all that filled the silence that ensued. Malik’s brows knitted on his forehead. “What?” he finally said.</p><p>Ryou peered up at him from under his lashes. His eyes—dark, with blown out pupils—were wide. “Only Bakura is allowed to touch,” he said. Then, he let out a shocked giggle. “But I—I’m not supposed to tell, though, so don’t say anything. Bakura said they’d g—get mad at me.”</p><p>Malik was sick to his stomach. “Ryou,” he started, uncertain, the words he was about to force out heavy in his mouth. “Does, does Bakura touch you—”</p><p>Without warning, Ryou craned his neck and pressed his small, soft mouth to Malik’s own. His little tongue prodded at the seam of Malik’s lips—paralyzed by surprise, Malik didn’t resist, granting him entrance. Ryou tasted like the pungent vodka Bakura had stolen earlier, but also of something sweet, a distinctly childlike tang that Malik had never encountered before. The kiss remained one-sided, but Ryou didn’t seem to mind that Malik was unresponsive; he lapped into his mouth anyway, enthusiastic, nose brushing against his cheek.</p><p>After a long moment had gone by, Ryou pulled away for air, drawing in a breath. His hands were trembling. “I t—touch him,” he managed, when he’d recovered enough to speak. “I like it.”</p><p>“Ryou,” came Bakura’s insistent voice from the doorway. </p><p>Malik couldn’t bring himself to drag his gaze away from Ryou. “You like it?” he repeated, faintly. </p><p>Ryou smiled, lazy and warm. “I like it.”</p><p>“<em>Ryou,</em>” Bakura spat, closer this time. Malik raised his eyes—he was standing right in front of them, holding out a glass of water. “Drink it.”</p><p>Nodding in automatic obedience, Ryou reached out and grabbed the glass, holding it between his small palms. He raised it to his lips and took a sip; the pale column of his throat shifted with the movement. Bakura sat down on his other side, winding an arm around his waist and not looking at Malik. </p><p>“That’s it,” Bakura urged when Ryou’s eyes squeezed shut. “Finish the glass, you can do it.”</p><p>Ryou struggled, but then in one large gulp he succeeded in draining all the water. Panting, his gaze flitted from Malik to his older brother. “It tastes weird,” he whimpered, finally landing on Bakura. “And my tummy hurts.”</p><p>Bakura, still resolutely avoiding Malik’s eyes, reached down to clutch Ryou’s chin and captured his lips in a firm kiss. His mouth moved slow and gentle against the younger boy’s; the hand on his hip cupped its small curve as if it were something precious.</p><p>Malik’s head was swimming, his face clammy as he watched the two brothers move together. It was undeniably wrong. The whole thing was sick; they were related, brothers by blood. And Ryou was just a kid—a nice, sweet kid. Far too young to be doing anything of this sordid nature.</p><p>And yet he looked so <em>happy. </em>His glossy eyes had been clouded with lust. He’d kissed Malik with purpose.</p><p>Ryou clambered into Bakura’s lap, pulling away to nuzzle his cheek. In his thin shorts, his little cock was straining. As he allowed his brother to straddle his thighs, Bakura’s eyes fell shut, his head resting against Ryou’s chest.</p><p>“Kiss me,” Ryou whined when Bakura didn’t immediately move. “<em>Bakura-nii</em>.”</p><p>Bakura raised his chin at that and pulled Ryou into a bruising kiss, squeezing down on the young boy’s fragile waist, drawing him in closer. He was hard, too—Malik could see, though he didn’t want to look—and his erection pressed against Ryou’s inner thigh, rocking into him with every slide of their mouths.</p><p>“Shit,” Malik wheezed.</p><p>Jerking away from Bakura, as if he had suddenly become aware that he was being observed, Ryou’s gaze turned to where Malik was sitting in dumbfounded silence. “Y—You’re funny,” he breathed out, words slurring. “I like you.”</p><p>Malik bit his lip. “I like you, too,” he found himself replying. His cock was painfully hard in his jeans.</p><p>Bakura looked at him then, finally; his pupils were so blown his eyes appeared nearly black. “Ryou,” he instructed, quiet, his gaze not moving. “Get on your knees and suck me.”</p><p>Ryou nodded and dropped clumsily between Bakura’s legs, sliding onto the floor. Far too experienced for a thirteen year old, he  undid his jeans and reached into his boxers, pulling out his older brother’s hard, leaking shaft. Without pause, he took the head into his mouth, tongue sweeping over its leaking tip. </p><p>“Faster,” Bakura ordered, hand dropping to tangle itself in Ryou’s hair. “I want to hear you choke.”</p><p>Determined, Ryou took the shaft deeper into his mouth, straining around its girth. His eyes soon began to water; he was so small, and Bakura’s cock was comparatively much larger than his little mouth could accommodate with ease. Still, he pressed on, head bobbing in Bakura’s lap as his throat clenched and soft gagging sounds bubbled from his lips.</p><p>Malik bit down so hard on the inside of his own cheek that he tasted his own blood. Reaching into his jeans he wrapped a loose fist around his own cock, jerking himself off in fast, hard strokes. The sooner this was over the better.</p><p>“Keep sucking, kitten,” Bakura murmured, forcing Ryou’s mouth down on his cock. “Don’t get lazy now.”</p><p>Ryou’s cheeks were wet with tears and drool, lips stretched around Bakura’s shaft, and yet he tried to smile anyways. The gesture was nearly imperceptible, but both Bakura and Malik caught on to his delight at being referred to in such a way.</p><p>One of his little hands was rubbing at the front of his shorts, his hips rocking into the movement. Ryou was getting off on this—on being publicly humiliated and used by his older brother while stull drunk. Malik couldn’t tell whether that made it worse, or better.</p><p>Teeth gritted, Bakura grasped Ryou’s head in both of his calloused hands and began to fuck his throat brutally, impervious to his younger brother’s pathetic choking noises. He was whispering a stream of expletives—Malik only caught a few words, but they were nasty enough he decided he probably didn’t want to know more.</p><p>When Ryou was ripped off for breath, the sight of his drunk, sleepy, fucked out face made Malik’s cock <em>throb. </em>Consequences be damned—Malik stood and stumbled closer to the young boy, wrapping a spool of his soft hair around his length.</p><p>Bakura eyed him warily and then forced Ryou’s head back down, turning his attention back to his brother. “That’s it, kitten,” he purred, massaging his scalp in broad, lazy gestures. “I’m so close.”</p><p>Malik thrust into Ryou’s hair, groaning under his breath when the blunt head of his cock brushed up against his jaw. It wasn’t anything like pussy, but Ryou was so warm, and his noises and scent were so appealing it hardly mattered how Malik defined himself. Besides, the boy wasn’t a proper man—he was so effeminate and young he could pass for a girl anyway.</p><p>“Baby,” Bakura crooned, echoing his previous praise. “Let go for me, Ryou. You’re so tense.”</p><p>Ryou squirmed and then he was coming into his own hand, coating his fingers in his sticky release. He stilled, chest rising and sucking in air, and then he was pulled back onto Bakura’s cock and it was shoved all the way down his throat.</p><p>“Shit,” Bakura ground out. “You’re such a tight little slut."</p><p>Malik was so blinded by the desire to <em>fuck harder and faster and more</em>, that he only faintly realised that Bakura was coming, shooting his heavy load down Ryou’s throat. His own hips jerked wildly, the hair wrapped around his shaft tangled and wet, as he jacked himself to completion. It hardly took him a few more pumps before he was coming, too, dirtying the young boy’s hair with his thick cum. Ryou let out a discontented sigh but otherwise said nothing.</p><p>They stayed there in silence for a long while. Bakura scooped Ryou up in his arms and kissed him; the gesture was slow and practice, as if Ryou had long since been seeking refuge in his brother’s embrace.</p><p>It was then that Malik realised two things: he was intruding on a private moment he had no interest in observing, and he needed nothing more than to hurl. He stuffed his cock back into his jeans, turned without looking back, and stumbled out from the living room onto the front porch, fleeing the room and leaving its contents behind. </p><p>The second he got out to the road he threw up on the ground, his throat burning with acid. His eyes were wet, and his head ached. When he felt well enough, Malik began to stride down the road, tuning out the faint honks of cars and other background noise. </p><p>There was only one thing Malik could do. He needed to go back to the liquor store—with his wallet, this time—because this would require another case of vodka.</p><p> </p>
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